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Chapter 3: Mom Was a Rich Girl?
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2026-09-01 09:02:28“I’m your grandfather.”
Riley stared at the old man.
Then she looked at Marcus.
Then back at the old man.
“...Whose?”
“Yours.”
“So I didn’t hear you wrong.”
Riley pressed a hand to her forehead.
“Okay, wait. Start from the beginning.”
“Of course.”
“And before that, I need to check something.”
She pointed at him.
“You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
“We’re actually related?”
“We are.”
“This isn’t a scam?”
“No.”
“Hidden cameras?”
“None.”
“Some kind of TV show?”
“No.”
Riley looked at Marcus.
“Is this guy okay?”
“That’s rude.”
“I think it’s a pretty reasonable question when a stranger introduces himself as my grandfather.”
The old man—Charles—didn’t get angry.
Instead, he gave a quiet laugh.
“That way of speaking. You sound very much like her.”
“Like who?”
“Your mother.”
The humor vanished from Riley’s face.
“...You knew my mom?”
“Yes.”
Charles lowered his eyes slightly.
“Evelyn Whitmore. My daughter.”
“No.”
Riley answered immediately.
“My mom was Evelyn Carter.”
“She changed her last name after she left home.”
“Left home?”
“This home.”
Riley looked around.
The enormous entrance hall.
The chandelier.
The marble floor.
None of it fit with the mother she remembered.
“Mom?”
“Yes.”
“She lived here?”
“Yes.”
“In this house?”
“She did.”
Riley fell silent for a moment.
“...No way.”
“I’m afraid it’s true.”
“You’re afraid?”
“Judging by your reaction.”
“Come on. We’re talking about my mom.”
“I’m aware.”
“My mom used to leave the crusts from her pizza and eat them for breakfast the next morning.”
“...I see.”
“She didn’t even care if her socks didn’t match.”
“She was like that when she was young too.”
“She was?”
Unfortunately, that made the whole story slightly more believable.
Riley made a face.
“Still doesn’t prove anything.”
“Of course not.”
Charles nodded.
“You have every reason not to believe me. Until yesterday, you didn’t even know I existed. Now some old man has appeared out of nowhere claiming to be your grandfather.”
“If you know how crazy that sounds, why’d you have me brought here like that?”
Riley pointed at Marcus.
“You could’ve just shown up and said, ‘Hi, I’m your grandpa.’”
“I was informed that there was a very high chance you would run.”
“By who?”
Riley looked at Marcus.
“Me.”
“What did you know about me before we even met?!”
“We conducted a thorough investigation.”
“That is terrifying!”
Charles cleared his throat.
“That was done on my orders. I apologize.”
“So I can go home?”
“After you hear me out.”
“See? That. That right there.”
Riley sighed.
But she didn’t say she was leaving.
“...How much do you know about Mom?”
Charles’s expression changed.
“I know the Evelyn who lived here. Before she left.”
“When did she leave?”
“Not long before you were born.”
“Why?”
Charles didn’t answer immediately.
“She and I... did not part on good terms.”
“You had a fight?”
“It was more complicated than that.”
His voice was quiet.
“I believed I was doing what was best for my daughter, so I made far too many decisions for her. Where she would study. Who she would spend time with. What kind of life she would have.”
Riley frowned.
“That sounds like exactly the kind of thing Mom would hate.”
“Yes.”
Charles gave a bitter smile.
“It took me far too long to realize that.”
For once, Riley had no joke to make.
Charles began walking slowly down the hall.
“There’s something I want to show you.”
“You’re not putting me in another car, are you?”
“No.”
“No surrounding me with guys in black suits?”
“Only if necessary.”
“It is not necessary!”
Still wary, Riley followed him.
Paintings and sculptures lined the hallways.
“You said this wasn’t a museum, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are there so many paintings?”
“Because this is a house.”
“Rich-people answers are really annoying.”
Marcus walked a few steps behind them.
Eventually, Charles stopped in front of a large portrait.
“This one.”
Riley stopped beside him.
A young woman sat in the painting.
She wore a pale-colored dress.
Her long hair had been carefully styled.
She sat perfectly straight in her chair, smiling with polished grace.
There was no other way to put it.
She looked every inch a rich young lady.
“...”
Riley stepped closer.
She studied the face.
Then studied it again.
“No way...”
The clothes were unfamiliar.
The hairstyle was unfamiliar.
Even the expression was one Riley had never seen before.
But there was no mistaking her.
“That’s Mom.”
Charles nodded quietly.
“Evelyn at seventeen.”
“Seventeen...”
Riley looked up at the portrait.
One year younger than Riley was now.
“She actually wore stuff like this?”
“Quite often, back then.”
“She hated it, didn’t she?”
Charles’s eyes softened.
“You know her well.”
“I’m her daughter.”
The words left Riley’s mouth before she could think about them.
She fell silent.
So did Charles.
Only the unfamiliar smile of her mother in the portrait remained, watching over them both.
After a while, Riley spoke again.
“...So you really are my grandfather?”
Charles looked at her.
“Yes.”
Riley turned back to the portrait.
For the first time since arriving at the mansion, she didn’t argue.
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